


To Walk in the Woods

by DesertVixen



Category: Rotkäppchen | Little Red Riding Hood (Fairy Tale)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-15
Updated: 2017-05-15
Packaged: 2018-10-31 23:44:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,138
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10909902
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DesertVixen/pseuds/DesertVixen
Summary: Little Red Riding Hood meets the Huntswoman...





	To Walk in the Woods

**Author's Note:**

  * For [lostinthefire](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lostinthefire/gifts).



She had been scared of the woods at first, but now she knew the real danger was here in the cottage with her.

"Oh, grandmother, what big eyes you have!" 

"All the better to see you with." 

Charlotte stood there in her red hood and cape, hands full of the sweet-smelling blossoms she had picked for her grandmother, and knew that it was not her grandmother in the bed. Oh, if only she had not listened to the wolf and come straight here, just as her mother had warned her! She and Grandmother could have locked the doors and enjoyed the all the good things that were in her basket in safety. 

She knew that it was not her grandmother in the bed, that it must be the wolf. Yet she could not force her body to move, convinced that if she turned to run and summon help, the wolf would spring upon her.

So Charlotte stood there frozen, unsure how long she could stand there before something, anything happened to break the moment.

It seemed that an eternity dragged by, one breath at a time, until the door to the cottage slammed open.

“So here I find you, old sinner!” The green-cloaked figure who rushed into the room startled Charlotte so much that she dropped the flowers. 

Then she saw that she probably could have run away all the time, for when the wolf tried to lunge for the Huntsman, he could not move very quickly, being weighed down with his last meal.

Charlotte watched as the Huntsman wielded a gleaming, sharp axe, and the wolf was no more.

“Where is the old woman who lives here?”

“I think he ate her,” Charlotte cried, focusing on the thought that the Huntsman had an unexpectedly high voice to avoid thinking about her poor grandmother.

Until the green cloak was cast aside, it had not dawned on Charlotte that the Huntsman was a Huntswoman – a tall, slim woman, with dark hair that hung below her waist in a pair of braids. Instead of a dress, she wore dark brown pants and doublet over a cream-colored blouse, rough and serviceable boots, a dagger hanging at her waist. 

The Huntswoman dragged the wolf to the floor and knelt beside the body, drawing the dagger. Charlotte watched in fascination as the Huntswoman sliced the wolf’s body open, then plunged her hands in. Somehow she was not surprised to see the Huntswoman lift the frail frame of her grandmother from the wolf’s corpse.

The Huntswoman gently laid the woman on the bed, working to revive her. Charlotte fetched water as requested, and was relieved when her grandmother began to cough and sputter.

“Frederika.” The old woman’s voice was shaky. “You came just in time.”

“Yes, Grandmother,” the Huntswoman replied.

*** *** 

When dark had fallen around the little cottage, they locked the door and enjoyed the delicious things in the basket. There was crusty bread, sharp cheese, sweet pastries, pickles that tasted of dill, . These village provisions were nicely complemented by the sweet early raspberries Frederika had brought with her. Grandmother had revived enough to make a chicken stew that made the cottage smell delicious. Combined with herbal tea, it was a veritable feast.

Grandmother was seated in her chair by the fire, as if it were a throne, with a shawl wrapped about her shoulders, a glass of the wine in her hand. As Frederika’s own clothes were quite bloody and messy from dispatching the wolf and dealing with his pelt, she wore a wrapper and nightgown – with her hair down, the Huntswoman looked like a young girl.

“Why did Mother not tell me that you had other grandchildren?” Charlotte asked when they had finished the meal.

“We adopted Frederika. When she was a little girl, she was found wandering in the woods.” Grandmother rocked in her chair, knitting needles flashing. “Your grandfather was the Huntsman in those days, of course. But we only had your mother, and she did not care for life in the woods.”

Charlotte could easily see this. Her mother was a creature of the village, more frightened by the possibility of what could be hiding in the woods than by the things that lurked in the village. 

“The animals led me to the cottage,” Frederika said softly. “I was traveling down the great river with my parents, when something went wrong. I was thrown from the boat and washed up on the shores of the river, and the animals showed me the way.”

“The animals knew you could be trusted,” Grandmother said. “And so we raised you to be the Huntswoman, to guard the forest and everything that dwells within it.”

Charlotte found the story fascinating. The forest was a strange place, but she had not found it a scary place until she met the wolf. She wanted to know more about all of it. “Even the wolf?”

“Even the wolf?”

“Even the wolf,” Frederika replied. “The wolf has its own place in the woods. If there were no wolves, there would be too many deer, and they would die of hunger. But the wolf you met today was not happy to stay in his place. Instead, he actively sought to harm people-“

“And he tried to eat Grandmother,” Charlotte interjected.

“And tried to eat Grandmother. So he had to be dealt with. But the other wolves are not all bad. They have a place.”

“How do you know all of this?” Charlotte wrapped her arms around her knees.

“Grandfather taught me much.” Frederika gazed into the fire, as if she was thinking about the last Huntsman. Charlotte had never really known her grandfather, and part of her envied Frederika for having done so. “Some of it I learned by making mistakes.”

“Your grandfather also learned by making mistakes,” Grandmother said calmly. “It is the way of nature.”

“But it can be painful,” Frederika said, in an almost-whisper.

Grandmother smiled a sad smile. “That is also the way of nature.”

“Would you teach me?” Charlotte asked. 

Frederika said nothing for a few moments. “Perhaps.”

*** ***  
Frederika was gone in the morning before Charlotte awoke. She wondered perhaps if she had dreamed the whole thing, if the wolf had been merely a fragment of nightmare. 

On the second day, Frederika returned, bringing a small book with her.

“When you return to the village, you should take this,” she said, giving Charlotte the book. “If you still wish to learn about the woods this summer, I will teach you.”

Charlotte slipped the book into her now-empty basket, and said her goodbyes, leaving Grandmother and Frederika in the forest.

This time, when she walked along the path, she went straight home, without picking any flowers.

She could not wait until she could return to the woods. 

This time she would not be afraid.

**Author's Note:**

> So I hope you liked it! I had a good time imagining it and writing it.
> 
> If you are a fan of 70s and 80s cartoons, you may laugh when I tell you that one of the brainstorms I had for the story was "Frederika of the Forest"... there's still an echo or two in there, but I wanted to give you something interesting as far as the Huntswoman. And to let Grandmother do something besides be eaten.


End file.
